Broken : ScareCrow
by TerrorOfCrows
Summary: A continuation of Broken : Batman, including my new character the Raptor. A doctor tries to help his ailing patients, and Catwoman has an unscheduled appointment.


**BROKEN**

ScareCrow

The Raptor looked out from an old abandoned building in the slums of Gotham City. He ignored the whimpers behind him and thought back to when he lived another life. It was hard to think that only a few months ago, he was Nightwing, the former Batman accomplice, who was captured and punished because of what Batman refused to do. At the hands of an assassin, he was disfigured, uprooted from all that was normal, and brought to the realization that his mentor was no longer sufficient, or never was to begin with. Now he was the most feared vigilante ever known to Gotham, who brought the crime rate lower than it has ever been in the city's history. Cries for help snapped him back into the present.

"Help! Help! Someone please…!"

"No one is coming for you. They know the consequences, the consequences you scoffed at."

"No, no I swear, I didn't mean to-"

"Didn't mean to pull a gun on that young girl, to shoot her date, to try to rape her and to dare to defy the law?"

The man began to sob quietly. "I'm sorry… I…"

"Sorry isn't good enough. Sorry will not bring him back. But, you can avenge his death for me."

The man looked up quickly and nodded his head eagerly, "Yes, yes anything, anything you want!"

"It's not what I want, do you want to?"

"I do. Please…"

"Okay, come over here and look out the window." The Raptor helped the man over to the window, as his hands and feet were bound. "Do you see that man over there?"

"Where? I don't-"

The Raptor sank a hooked knife into brainstem of the man, twisting it before ripping it back out and pushing him out of the tenth story looked down at the body lying in the street. The smashed corpse should send a sufficient message to everyone for a while. Raptor looked at his hooked blade, and wiped it against the window sill. Small hunks of brain matter were left behind as he did so, and then was placed back into its sheath on his utility belt. Before setting out he checked his other equipment just to be safe: two loaded and silenced 9mm pistols with three extra clips per handgun, two hooked knives, three smoke pellets, his grappler gun and his own personally made pain medication for his burns. Police sirens could be heard in the distance, but they were approaching quickly; he should leave as soon as possible. No one saw exactly how the man came to fall from the building, but there were reports of a man wearing camouflage running along the rooftops soon after.

Dick Grayson donated a large sum of his inheritance from Bruce Wayne to Gotham city, to see it restored and repaired from the terrorist attacks of the man referred to as the Joker by the newspapers. In addition, he also had two statues commissioned to sit outside of city hall in honor of Gotham's fallen heroes: Police Commissioner James Gordon, and of Batman. Dick Grayson, out of what is now his normal character, went to the unveiling of the statues, though wearing a mask to hide his acid burns. He was quite pleased that his name was now on front lines of the paper, as well as on numerous repaired buildings including the new Gotham City Hospital of Health, Recovery, and Correction.

Gotham City Hospital H.R.C. was home to numerous professions: surgical associates, geriatrics, rehabilitation, etc. This hospital complex covered everything, including psychiatric care. One psychiatrist newly employed in the complex, was Dr. Jonathan Crane.

Dr. Jonathan Crane was fresh out of school with a major in psychology and a minor in pharmacology, being able to diagnose his patients and prescribe medication with precise knowledge of how the medicines work. He wanted to help people, to make them better so that they could live their lives. His specialization is in phobias. His goal is to conquer the fears of Gotham.

He was a tall, medium built man which made him appear lanky. His black hair fell just below his ears, and he wore thick, black frame glasses over his pale green eyes. Dr. Crane was sitting in a leather chair while waiting for his last client of the day, staring out of a window in his office that looked towards the part of the complex containing the ER. He wasn't really looking, or trying to see anything; instead, he was deep in thought, thinking about a new drug he had formulated. His concentration broke as his last client walked through the door and sat down across from him. Dr. Crane looked the man over, having never treated him before even at another hospital. The man looked terrible; his eyes were sunken and red, his face wrinkled and pale, and his hands were shaking.

"Mister… Stevens, correct? How are you today?" Dr. Crane made direct contact eye contact with Mr. Stevens in order to gauge his pupil dilation. They were much dilated; a sign of intense fear and anxiety, assuming he wasn't under the influence of any recreational drugs, but he was willing to assume his fear was legitimate from that alone.

"I need help Doc, I haven't slept in three days, and I can't work right, or eat, or do anything." The man was clearly disturbed by whatever was causing his trauma, and was on the verge of tears.

"Okay, first we need to talk about what's bothering you. Is it something you can tell me, do you know what it is, or is it a dream?"

"It's my job." The man looked down at his hands and rubbed them over each other. "My job… my job is…" He inhaled deeply and wiped his nose. "See, I've been to prison before, and as an ex-con I can't find good work in this city, and I don't have enough money to try to leave, so I fell back into –"

"Stop right there, that's enough Mr. Stevens. Your… occupation is of no concern, at least in detailing exactly what that is." Dr. Crane adjusted in his chair and scratched his forehead before continuing. "Did you hurt someone? Do you feel guilty?"

"No, I'm scared! I'm scared, ok? Cause this is all I can do, and I have a son, and if he gets me…" His voice trailed off.

"Oh, I see." Dr. Crane leaned over and picked up a newspaper from a coffee table and showed it to the man. "Is this him, what you're scared of Mr. Stevens?" The headline of the paper featured an article on the new vigilante of Gotham, the Raptor.

"Please, Dr. Crane, I've taken any pills I could get my hands on for this, but they're not working."

"Maybe we could up your dosages and –"

"I told you what kind of work I'm in; do you think I couldn't get any kind of pill I wanted? I told you they don't work."

Dr. Crane pushed his glasses back in front of his eyes and folded his hands in his lap. Turning his head slightly to the side he asked the man, "So what do you want from me? You don't seem to want therapy, and you're adamant that pills don't work." Dr. Crane's face lost all semblance of a friendly doctor wanting to help people, and turned into a terrible scowl. "He told you, didn't he Mr. Stevens."

Mr. Stevens defensively sat back in his seat and diverted his eyes from Dr. Cranes. "I-I don't know what you're…"

"Don't think you can fool me with that Mr. Stevens, I know he told you." He stood up, drew the blinds over his windows, and walked behind the man to lock the door. "Does anyone else know about what I did for him?"

Mr. Stevens was nervously tapping his foot now. "Okay look, he saw that I was stressing out about this Raptor guy, and suggested that you could maybe help me out."

"So he could have told any number of people, not just you." Dr. Crane leaned on his desk with both hands, his back facing Mr. Stevens. He rapped his fingers on the desk as he thought and his anger level rose. "And what about you, Mr. Stevens; can I trust you, like I thought I could trust him?"

"Trust me?"

"To not go and tell people about what I did, to not sell me out and betray my trust." Dr. Crane turned and looked at the man. "Get out, and don't ever come back to my office." He walked to the door opened it. "I wanted to help him, and I told him that I could lose my job and go to prison for helping him the way I did, and this is what I get."

"Wait, I need help too! What he did isn't my fault; now just give me what you gave him."

"I said leave, and don't you dare speak a word to anyone."

Mr. Stevens stood sharply and cornered Dr. Crane, speaking to him in a hushed voice. "Give me what I want, or I go to the cops."

"Are you threatening me, Mr. Stevens?"

"Not your life maybe, but your career. Now give me the meds."

Dr. Crane pushed the man away and straightened his suit. "I do this to help people with their fears, and now I'm being blackmailed on its account." He picked up his briefcase next to his desk and took a small bottle out of it. Six pills were taken out, and he threw them at the man's feet. As Mr. Stevens picked them up eagerly, Dr. Crane walked past him and out the door. "Tell no one, Mr. Stevens."

Dr. Crane was sitting in his office the next day, when Mr. Stevens burst into the room. He was even more a mess than yesterday, and threw what pills he had left back at Dr. Crane.

"What the hell is this!? He went insane!"

Dr. Crane took a pad of paper from his desk, "Tell me what happened." There was urgency to his voice; he did not want his drug to be imperfect.

"He was crazed, striking out at everyone around him and screaming! He was terrified of us! He ran out of pills and was worse than when he started; your damn pills did it!"

"Where is he?"

"He's dead!"

"Did you take any of the pills yet?"

"Yes Goddammit!"

Dr. Crane stopped writing and looked up, "Any side effects?" Mr. Stevens shook his head 'no' very quickly as he watched Dr. Crane, with a panicked look on his own face. "Well, I think… that because you are yet to suffer any side effect, you should stay here with me until they appear."

"No way in hell am I gonna just wait to go nuts!"

"Please calm yourself Mr. Stevens. It is in your interest to stay so that I can monitor you, and help you when it's time to take another pill. This is a safe place."

Mr. Stevens reluctantly agreed to stay, and sat in the chair opposite of Dr. Crane as he looked through the magazines he had available. As the hours passed, Dr. Crane frequently monitored Mr. Stevens by taking temperatures and blood pressure measurements, as well as noting perspiration and eye dilation. He noticed that Mr. Stevens seemed agitated, and decided that he should distract him with general conversation. "I was picked on as a child… were you ever bullied?" Mr. Stevens shook his head 'no'. "I was. I lived in a more rural area outside of Gotham, but our house was close enough to the city limit for me to use Gotham schools. The other kids would tease me because of my name, calling me 'Ichabod Crane' and poked fun at my rural home, saying I helped my parents with our farm by being the 'scarecrow'… but I eventually found ways to cope."

"Yeah?"

"I made myself feel better, by scaring them. I made a mask out of an old sack cloth and on nights when they were particularly mean to me, I would go into the city and stand outside of their houses to scare them… and thus began my obsession with fear, and my pursuit of psychology."

Mr. Stevens began to sweat quite profusely. Dr. Crane opened his briefcase and looked over the specifications of his drug. "When did you last medicate again?"

"A-About five hours ago… uh, at b-breakfast." He tapped his foot quickly and began rubbing his palms on his thighs.

Dr. Crane noted that the timing of the side effects were rather close to his expectations. "How do you feel Mr. Stevens?"

"I… uh…" Suddenly the lights seemed to get brighter, and his ears began to ring. He turned to look at Dr. Crane, who at first appeared normal. Then the lights around him began to flicker, and the room started to vibrate. The doctor's eyes shined white, and his face cracked and peeled with his veins protruding from his flesh. Dr. Crane stood and ran towards him, reaching towards him with clawed fingers. Mr. Stevens fell from his chair and scrambled to the corner of the office, screaming in terror.

Dr. Crane was trying to get close to him to help, but the man would flail at him in fear, striking out against the monster he thought he saw. "Nurse, get in here, Nurse!"

Dr. Crane sat in the filth of the alleyway in the less 'governed' part of Gotham. He clutched to things he was able to retrieve before leaving the life he had made for himself: his briefcase that contained all the information concerning his drug, and his sack cloth mask. Wearing an old, tattered hat and patched rain coat he found over his doctors jacket, he reflected on what had landed him there.

The terrified Mr. Stevens thrashed in the gurney he was being wheeled out Dr. Crane's office in; the sedatives that he was administered had no effect in quelling the fears he suffered from Dr. Crane's drug. As he was rushed towards the ER to try to remedy his ailment, Dr. Crane quickly gathered his things into his briefcase and made for the exit. He knew that the drug may still be in his system in small traces, but through other tests could ultimately be found, and be linked to him. One man had already been killed by the side effect of his drug, and he suspected the same for Mr. Stevens as well. He would not stick around to be arrested for murder. All he wanted was to help, but they wouldn't understand.

He rushed to his apartment and looked around for anything he thought he might need. Money would be needed of course, and not much else was really necessary; he wanted to disappear as quickly as possible, so he wouldn't have time to pack anything. Then he saw his mask, the one he kept to remind him of the power of fear.

Dr. Crane flagged down a taxi, grasping his scarecrow mask and briefcase alone. "Take me to the Narrows." The taxi lurched and headed for the seedier side of Gotham; the border between downtown Gotham and Arkham.

The cabby looked at the nervous Dr. Crane in the rear view mirror. He was still wearing his H.R.C. nametag and doctors jacket. The cab driver didn't make much of it, and in turn turned on the radio. They drove along without incident nearly the entire way, when the music was interrupted by a city wide alert. The alert was for Dr. Jonathan Crane, wanted for administering illegal medication to his patient, resulting in his murder, from which he was fleeing. The cabby looked in the mirror again and slowed down. Reading the name tag, he slammed on the brakes and pulled to the side of the road. When he looked in the mirror again, Dr. Crane had put on his mask, and was reaching into the front to smack the driver in the face with a smashed up piece of a pill. The powder got into the driver's nose and mouth, and began to scream almost instantly. Dr. Crane's voice was distorted and crackly, "_You're not going to tell anyone that you saw Dr. Crane today, or the ScareCrow will find you, and show you the true meaning of terror_." He leaned forward and grabbed the man's face, shoving him into the floorboards. Dr. Crane grabbed his briefcase and fled the cab, removing his mask as he did so, and ripped off his nametag, fleeing into the Narrows.

And now, three days later, here he was in the alleyway. No shelter, no food, no nothing, and only his drug and his mask to keep him company.

The Raptor stood on the top of a building in the Narrows, looking out across this forlorn part of the city, waiting for his first criminal of the night. He scanned the other rooftops to find a better vantage point when a dark figure darted across one roof, followed by another. He grappled to the building they were heading towards, and took cover behind an air conditioner unit. He peeked around the corner, and saw Batgirl chasing Catwoman. Just as Catwoman came to the edge of the building and prepared to leap to the next, the Raptor emerged from the shadows and shot her in the thigh, causing her to lose speed and fall into the alley below.

"No!" Batgirl looked down into the alleyway at Catwoman's motionless form. She turned and struck out at this new enemy.

"Barbara, Barbara stop!" He holstered his pistol and dodged her attacks. "It's me, Dick!" Kicking her lightly away from him, he removed his mask and held up his hands to end the melee.

"Dick? I… I don't understand." She looked at his new alter ego, taking special note of his two side arms. "What is this?"

"I've been looking for you Barbara. I'm sorry about your father; Jim was a good man."

"And so was Bruce." She hadn't taken her eyes off of the guns. "Why do you have those?"

The Raptor paused before he answered. "Bruce and I tried to find you that night, but we couldn't."

Barbara Gordon looked over the side of the building again at Catwoman's body. "Dick, you shot her. That's not what Bruce taught you; what are you doing, why do you have those guns?" She stepped closer to him causing him to move his hands to his guns instinctively. "What, are you going to shoot me too?"

"I could never shoot you Barbara. We were both his students, and he taught us wrong, he was wrong. Bruce Wayne was wrong." He gestured to his face and stood toe to toe with her, "This, is because of Batman, because he couldn't do what he should've; the reason we wear masks. He couldn't take justice into his own hands."

"The Joker did that to you, not Batman."

"No Barbara, it was him! And now I do what he could never do; I am the protector of Gotham now! And Bruce, he was in the way."

"No, you didn't do it Dick… you didn't…" Barbara backed away from him, but he kept advancing until they were back at the edge of the building. "How could you? After everything, how could you?" Her eyes began to tear.

"It was the only way, and now I can truly help Gotham, and so could you."

"Do you know who you sound like?"

"Like Ra's al Ghul?" He put his mask back on, "Maybe he was right all along." Dick slowly circled so he was flush with the edge of the building. "And as the Raptor, I will save Gotham." He looked over the edge, and Catwoman was gone. "What?!" He turned back to Barbara, but she too was gone. He looked over the edge again to where Catwoman's body should have been. "Damn it."

Dr. Crane sat in the alley, trying to fall asleep, when a woman fell from the rooftops, and landed a few feet away from him. He was startled, and stared at the unmoving form, but was snapped back to focus by the sound of voices overhead. He looked up, and at seeing no one, he lifted the woman from the ground, and carried her down the alley. He may not be a medical doctor, but as a doctor, he felt he couldn't just leave her. Dr. Crane came to a seemingly abandoned building, and checked the door. It opened, and he was irritated he hadn't checked it before so he wouldn't have to sleep outside. He checked her over: still breathing, though laboriously, a moderate pulse, and a gunshot wound that went seemingly clean through. Satisfied she could wait a moment, he rushed outside to retrieve his mask and briefcase.

Selina Kyle awoke several hours later in the dark and dank abandoned warehouse. She was lying on a crudely constructed bed, under an even more crudely made blanket of newspapers and cloth strips. She moved to get up, realizing that she was naked. "Well then… anyone here?"

Dr. Crane appeared from around a corner, "Oh, good, you're awake. How are you feeling?"

"I feel cold and naked. Why am I naked?" Selina lowered her gaze and raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

Dr. Crane's face visibly blushed as he answered her. "Well, you were injured, and as a doctor, I thought it was my responsibility to try to help you, and to dress your wound I had to… remove… your leather suit."

"And do you plan on giving my clothes back to me, or plan to keep me a naked prisoner?"

"I'm sorry, of course…" Dr. Crane disappeared and returned with her leather suit, patched as well as he could. "… Here you are." He tossed her cat suit to her.

Catwoman unashamedly stood from the bed, letting the crude blanket fall, exposing her completely. She examined herself, particularly her leg, and then squeezed into her leather cat suit. Leaving her suit partially unzipped exposing her cleavage, she approached Dr. Crane. "How could this kitty repay you? Would you like for me to… sit… in your lap?" She ran a finger down his chest as she carefully patted him down looking for valuables. She pulled a small bottle from his rear pocket, "What have we here?" She shook the bottle, rattling the pills inside.

"Give that back!" He reached out, but Catwoman was faster.

"Oooh, a junkie are we?" She teased him by dangling the pills just out of his reach. "What are we dealing with here, anyway?" She held the pills up as if examining them.

Dr. Crane lunged, not at the pills, but at her, tackling her onto the makeshift bed. "Give me back my pills now!" He had his hands on the pills, but could not wrest them from her grasp. "You bitch!"

Catwoman laughed and kicked him off of her. "Bitches are dogs, honey. This is a pussy…cat." She grabbed the tail of her suit, a whip, and spun it around, "And this pussy is a hard catch."

Dr. Crane reached around the corner, grabbed his mask and put it on. "_And I am the ScareCrow!_" He pulled out an open pouch of powdered pills from a pocket in his raincoat and threw it into Catwoman's face. The powder went in her mouth, nose and eyes, causing her to cough and sputter, trying to wipe it away.

Catwoman looked through her tearing eyes at the ScareCrow. The lights appeared dimmed around him, and the stitches in the mask appear to be squirming. He lunged at her again, this time knocking her to the floor, and leaned his face in next to hers. The stitches had become maggots, and worms came from his eyes and mouth. She screamed at the monster before her.

He chuckled and took the pills back from her, _"What's the matter pussycat, cat got your tongue?_" The ScareCrow grabbed her whip and placed it on the table on the other side of the room. "_What you're feeling now, is a modified version of a drug I've formulated. Usually, it would immunize you to fear; only subjecting you to terror once it wore off, causing the receptors in your brain supersensitive to everything, making everything terrible for you. Now there is no immunity, only the scare, and the ScareCrow_." The ScareCrow turned around, and held out his arms in a presenting manner, "_Welcome, to the Haunted House." _He began to laugh, as Catwoman turned her attention to her hallucinations.

She stared down the abandoned warehouse, which to her appeared to be a corner on a darkened street, lined with other, scantily clad women. Her mouth was gaped at what she saw; she knew those women. "Gina… Rebecca… Molly… it can't be." She suddenly felt a chill across her body and looked down. All she was wearing was a short leather skirt and a bikini top, with black heels. Selina began to choke as she fought tears, and walked towards the worn down building behind her coworkers.

The ScareCrow walked in front of her, observing her emotions and the side effects of his drug, taking notes and chuckling to himself. "Fascinating… truly fascinating."

Selina motioned as if she was opening a door; she had entered the building in her hallucination. As she walked towards an office at the end of the building's one hall, she passed a number of rooms from which pleasured moans were coming from. She knew what was happening behind the doors; prostitutes at work. The sounds, the smells, the women; it was all too real for Selina. Again, she motioned like she was opening the door to the office, and stepped inside where two men were standing: the ScareCrow, and a hallucinated man.

The ScareCrow watched with rapt attention as she held out her hand. "What do you see, what are you doing? Tell me…"

"I-It's Sergio the Sleaze… a mid-level worker for the Maroni family… they put him in charge of the whore house, he's my… p-pimp…" She started to cry freely in saying those words. She turned her attention to her pimp fully now. "H-Here's the night's money."

"This feels light; you wouldn't be stiffing me would you, Selina?" Sergio the Sleaze began walking towards her.

Selina uncharacteristically shied away and became withdrawn, holding her hand out again. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just n-need more money; I can't live on what we're paid."

"You no good, dirty whore!" Sergio started beating Selina, eliciting cries and squeals from her. "You think a damn slut can steal from Maroni? You need to remember your place!"

Her cries went on for several minutes, and eventually ended with her in a ball, shielding her head and breasts. "I-I'm sorry… please…" She tried to crawl away, but Sergio shut the door, locked it and took the key.

Sergio stepped over her and put the key on his desk, and now stood directly in front of the ScareCrow. "Maybe you could earn that money; maybe a little more even." Sergio the Sleaze opened up his coat and unzipped his fly. Selina continued to cry and pleaded with him.

The ScareCrow looked down at his watch; the dose he gave her would soon overstimulate her mind. Soon she would faint from her fear. "What's happening?"

"He w-wants me… to earn the m-money…" She sat up on her knees, as Sergio started walking towards her, now unbuttoning his pants.

Seeing her eyes begin to roll, ScareCrow started to walk towards Catwoman, and just as Sergio reached her, the ScareCrow burst through the hallucination and grasped her by the shoulders. She let out one last tormented scream and passed out. He dragged her back onto the makeshift bed to let her sleep off the drug. Dr. Crane removed the mask and sat in a chair next to the bed. "Fascinating…"

Selina Kyle woke up with a migraine, in her leather cat suit, and her weapons lying next to her. She looked up, remembering what had happened and saw the ScareCrow watching her. "Welcome back to the world of the living miss… what should I call you?" His mask, though only a mask right now must have still been unnerving, especially considering his attire as a whole: an old raincoat over his doctor's jacket, and the tattered hat on his mask. "Perhaps, scaredy-cat?"

"You can call me Catwoman," she said dryly. She noticed that everything was still normal; she had not yet been drugged a second time. She looked around again expecting a trap. "What do you want?"

The ScareCrow was leaning against a molded desk across the room. "You were my first client since my leaving the hospital, and you really did help me, in my experiment."

Flashes of Sergio the Sleaze came back into her mind. "That's not a very nice thing to do to a lady." She was visibly agitated, and was searching for a way out without moving her head.

"No it isn't, not even to a lady of the night, eh."

Catwoman's eyes shot back to Dr. Crane. "A cat cornered will claw, doctor."

"You can call me ScareCrow, and I see no further need to keep you here. I only wanted to help you, but then you stole from me; so unappreciative. In my mind, that was volunteering." He shook the bottle of pills at her, "But now that I have my property again, and have tested my newest concoction, I'll let you leave – on one condition."

"I'm all ears." She stood up and stretched provocatively, running her hands down her front. "How can this kitty scratch your itch?"

"I want you to spread my name in the Narrows. Tell it to any lowlife you find. Tell them there's a new drug dealer, one that can keep them from their deepest and darkest of fears. Tell them I have a drug that will even stay their fear for that Raptor vigilante. I only wish to help people, and that should include them. The doctor is in, and his name is the ScareCrow."


End file.
